Alright - I'm back!
Sorry it's been so long. I'd like to tell you all that I've been furiously farming away here - but I haven't lied to you yet. I'm not about to start now. After my incredible two day career of sheep farming, those little guys went up to the mountains and I became nearly unemployed. Well, some of them are still loitering around here a little. But most are gone. Actually, one of my favorite things is going for a nice long run and bumping into the stragglers. They 're always in this blind panic whenever they see a human (probably because they have frequent and recurrent nightmares about getting haircuts). So if they catch me coming down that ol' dusty trail, instead of heading to the mountains, they bolt down the road. I've had sheep sprinting in front of me on runs for up to ten minutes at a time. What is apparently obvious to me and not obvious to them, is that my interest is in the road and they could easily address the situation by running to the mountains. There's no one around, so I've even yelled at them, "For the love of God! If you would just get off the road you would see that I'm not chasing you! Run to the hills!" They must speak Icelandic. And they must not listen to Iron Maiden.
So the times here have been great, of course. Doin a little of this:
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There is one thing that I've noticed about taking myself out of "reality" and moving to a sheep farm (statement based on the theory that reality is relative): It has really given me time to be much more introspective than I think I've ever been. I am so much more aware of myself, my feelings, my life.... in such a different way. Being in 'reality' day after day is like living in a matrix. I feel like there has been so much more to distract me at home that I've found it almost uncomfortable to be just me out here for so long. How can I explain this properly? It's like, everyday I have ordinary life things that easily overcast some of the more subtle parts of me. For example, if I have a bad day in Winnipeg, I can easily chalk it up to work or weather. Whatever is convenient. Here it's not so easy to do that. When I am feeling a little off on this farm, I am the only one to look to for explanation. Like getting caught red-handed, I am here and there is nothing arbitrary to blame certain feelings on. So, like a liar without an excuse, I have had to do a lot of thinking about myself. And my life. And my heart. It has not been easy....
Sorry, deep thought. I promise that I'll weave this loose thread back into my blog entry in just a little bit. More on that later....
How 'bout some hot action?!
I had just gotten home from a two day holiday out and about with friends to see concerts, etc. It was a slam dunk, but I found myself running a little short on sleep. I arrived back to the farm at around 11pm on Friday and was greeted at the door by Sigrun. She told me she missed me and gave me a great big hug. I had missed her too. Although it had been so wonderful to be in the company of friends who speak english fluently, part of me was happy to be home. Home on the range.
As I'm putting some of my things away, we are chatting a little. Our conversation is not quite as easy as when I had left. She explains that the two days that I had gone for have left her out of practice. The age ol' saying of "if you don't use it, you lose it" enters in my mind, as I wonder if I too have lost ground. She points out the kitchen window (as I yawn - genuinely from exhaustion) "Oh you are soooo tired! Do you see this mountain? Do you want to climb it?" Faster than a knee-jerk reaction, I abruptly say, "No! Nei takk! I don't think that I feel like climbing any mountains. Yes, I am very tired." We are still looking out the window and she's still going on about climbing this mountain and I'm thinking to myself, "Yes. A very clever joke. That mountain is twice as big as the last one. It has snow all over it. People don't go there. And also definitely not mountain goats. They know better."
I wake up in the morning and find Sigrun in the kitchen. We enjoy a cup of coffee over some conversation and she brings up this mountain again. I humour her with laughter and once again voice my disapproval at the idea. She suddenly gets up from the table and finds some kind of little book. She opens it up and shows me a page and is pointing at something in Icelandic that's happening tomorrow. Oh my God! So that's why you kept 'joking' to me about climbing a mountain. That wasn't a joke, was it? Good lord.... you are asking me to climb a mountain. But I already did that..... it got checked off my bucket list!
We look at the ad for a while. It's for an Icelandic mountain-climbing club of some sort. I notice that there are a few dates and different excursions that are mentioned. Beside the dates, there are small pictures of hiking boots. One date has got one hiking boot beside it. Tomorrow's trek has got three hiking boots beside it. I ask her what it means, these hiking boots. She tells me that they are based on distance. I feel skeptical because I am not 100% confident that we are not mistaking 'distance' for 'aggressiveness' or 'intensity'. After all, we don't always communicate with the most superb accuracy. She then tells me that the hiking boot scale extends to five. Three hiking boots out of a possible five hiking boots. That makes me feel marginally better, but a three out of five to a member of an Icelandic mountain-climbing club and a three out of five to a prairie city slicker may lack congruency.
I think about the possibility of saying no.
And then I think of the possibility of saying yes.
And then suddenly, I am thinking about my Viking Rules and that I wanted to come out here and learn things about life. The problem with 'learning things' is that you can only really say that you have successfully learned something when you genuinely apply it to your future. Learning is not about timely observation and failure to apply. Now, audience, you will recall from Cliffhanger Part One, that I took a couple of big ideas down from the top of that mountain. One of them was:
-Climb mountains - especially when you think that you can't
So, my big mouth has once again done me in. I couldn't in good conscience let this opportunity go. But I was once again terrified..... I need my lady hikers!!!
I get up in the morning and get geared up. Gudmunder has found me hiking boots that will suffice, as he feels my running shoes (that worked like a charm on the last mountain hike) will not be suitable. I feel like this may be overdoing it - because I hate how hiking boots look (even though that's a really shallow thing to admit out loud). But what on earth do I know about climbing mountains? He shows me a photo album from 30 years ago when he climbed this mountain. He is excited that I'm going and I'm pleased to make him excited. Both of them are actually really excited for me. But I - I am terrified. Again.
There is a group that congregates in front of our farm house, as we are the last one on the road before the raw mountain landscape begins. I meet the guide and his wife (who both speak english - bonus) and by the time we are all ready to go, there are 38 of us:
and one dog:
This little guy actually made me believe in myself more than I was capable of self-motivating. If this little rascal was about to climb that scary mountain, surely I could manage it. Somehow...
After some sort of Icelandic pep talk, as far as I know anyway, we all get into people's various SUVs. It's about a 10 minute ride of highly aggressive off-road conditions to get to the starting point. Some vehicles couldn't even get all the way there. Once all arrived at base camp 0, we gather for another group huddle. I can't understand a word of what's going on until, one by one, people in the group are sounding off their name and where they are from, which I can always pick out. Everyone is Icelandic and so as it approaches me, I consider attempting to join them and introduce myself in Icelandic. At the last minute, I quickly decide against it, predicting that it will be funnier to blow everyone out of the water with a massive:
HI! I'm Sarah and I'm from CANADA!!!
I actually got a round of applause for that one. The only other person in the group that wasn't Icelandic was a dude from Germany. He got a round of applause as well. But not as good as mine. Canada - 1 Germany - 0.
Three, two, one......and we're off
Probably my biggest fear heading into the climb is that I would be the super slow inexperienced lady hiker that would perpetually hold everyone up. I was comforted by the fact that I was somewhat holding the middle ground. I didn't want to seem antisocial, but no one really talks during hikes because it's too hard. So, I threw my ear buds in and my horns up and started givn'r titties.
And we climbed...
and climbed...
up....
and up...
Thankfully, the group took breaks which allowed the stragglers to catch up. I was only a semi-straggler; middle of the pack. I've never been so proud to be mediocre in my lifetime. I will admit that I had very strong feelings of turning back. Part of the problem is that before I left home, Sigrun made me believe that I would be cold and my layers might not cut it. Oddly enough, it was by far the most beautiful weather that I have seen out here. The tour guide even remarked that in his 30 years of climbing this mountain, he had never seen anything like it. So, at one point during the hike, I was concerned that I was overheating and at risk for heat exhaustion (might be in NANDA - for my nursing audience). I was too proud to stop and forfeit my middle ranking. So, like a proud, proud ass, I sweated my way through the first 'heat' (a little more sports humour, for those who have been missing those types of jokes). Inside my head was a constant internal struggle. But all I could do was keep my feet moving and try to think positively. And listen to music. I have to partly attribute my successes in not giving up to shuffle. It was doin me right :).
On our first break we stop and the tour guide busts out this book and starts speaking in Icelandic. I gladly take this opportunity to take off about two layers and hose myself down with some drinking water before I have a vagal episode. I tune back into the monologue and hear that he is reading off names. I was unsure of the context, but smiled to myself at the thought that he might be taking this moment to quickly review the groups genealogical connections - which is so classically Icelandic. Let's meet, drink coffee (or in this case hike a mountain), and then review many leather bound books that detail our family lineage back to the dawn of time and determine how a random collection of people are related. This is one of the reasons that I know that I'm Icelandic. I love it. I am just a hopeless fool for Icelandic genealogy. After completion of his speech, everyone starts packing up to go. I ask him as I pass by what exactly it was that he was saying. He tells me that he was reading from a book that had all of the names of the people that originally hiked this very mountain 30 years ago. One of those names was Gudmunder's and his father, who was 68 at the time that he conquered the mountain. Another piece of motivation suddenly comes out of the wood work - this mountain is tradition. I suddenly understand why it was so important to Sigrun and Gudmunder that I do this. And in this moment it becomes very important to me too.
And we continue on...
and on...
and on...
And then something really strange happened to me. I started to think about Dad. I've come to dread this in a way because it's been happening to me all the time out here. You'd think that traveling to another country and pursuing a different life experience would take you far away from everything that you know, including grief. That's what I thought, anyway. But it's a lie. A fallacy of unimaginable magnitude because it is precisely the opposite. I went to Reykjavik and was cornered by grief even though I was surrounded by new friends, fun, and life. So I wrote about it in an attempt to get it out of me. But it didn't leave. It followed me. It followed me but gained some sort of momentum and has been difficult to overcome. Now I find myself climbing this mountain and I am so far away from the ground that I feel like I must be leaving the earth. I am exhausted and unsure of myself and feeling full of sadness. I start to wonder if he can see me, as I climb higher and higher. Like maybe now I can find him because I am closer and closer to heaven with every step.
I begin to imagine that he is on the top of this mountain. That if I could just get up there, no matter how hard it is, that he would be waiting for me. If I could make it beyond all of these rocks, I would find him at the top and he would jump up and say hey! And I would run to him and find myself in an embrace that took me more than seven years to find my way back to. I know it sounds so crazy, but my heart kept telling me that I have looked everywhere else imaginable to find him and come to terms with his death. I have been a fool and a failure and never able to close this chapter of my life. My heart is too weak to move on and I have been disillusioned by this mirage that tells me that I might find him somewhere, if I continue to search. So here I am on a mountain in northern Iceland and I am climbing this glare rock face with such fervor, believing that the answer to this conundrum awaits me at the summit.
I reach the top and realize my fears. He is not here either. I have come all the way up to heaven, but I still cannot find him. I sit down defeated and eat one of my sandwiches. If I can't find him here and he does not live at home, will I be cursed to roam like this forever? When will this hell be over? When will it be that I awake and go through one entire day where I am not struck down with sorrow? Because I have now climbed an incredible mountain; I feel like I can touch the sun and there is no place on earth that is more beautiful than this. And he isn't here either. I lay back on the snow and take a deep breath and make my heart quiet enough that I can say a little prayer.
"Hi Dad - it's me. I climbed a mountain to find you. Can you see me here? Can you hear me? Does this make you proud? I wish I could find you. I just want to see you once more but you are always hidden. Why can't I find you?"
As I take this moment to myself, an Icelandic woman stops and sits down next to me. Not realizing that I was deep in existential thought, she starts small talking to me about Canada and this and that. I sit up and politely engage in conversation with her. Before I know it the group is gathering, perhaps for another genealogical monologue. I reluctantly rise, not wanting to leave my hard earned platform to lament to my father's ghost.
As I stand there, I am reflecting and I come to a realization. Perhaps it sounds much like my former conclusion that I just need to get comfortable with finding him in my heart instead of the physical form that I had become accustomed to. The thing is that it's hard to become comfortable and satisfied with that. His presence in my life was previously defined and quantified by his physical form. I could touch, feel, and see him, so I knew that he was real. But as soon as he was gone, I was left to question if he was still in existence. Where did he go? Had the matter of his soul disintegrated with his body? It has taken me more than seven years to work this out. But on the top of this mountain, I came face to face with the uncertainty that has plagued me for so long. I would like to say here that I have become comfortable with his death and I found some kind of zen-like moment in the universe. But I didn't. What I found is that I can't continue to feel haunted. I cannot proceed with my life and terrorize myself with the horror that it is a possibility that he has vanished from existence and I have been a disappointment to him. I have been trapped living my life feeling only the tragedy because it easily overwhelms the love that I have for him.
As I thought about this, I started to cast down this invisible baggage that I have been carrying for an extraordinary amount of time. Piece by piece. I stood quietly and allowed hardened and bitter layers from my heart fall on the snow-covered mountain top. I tried to let my heart feel brave enough to shine brightly. I worked so hard at feeling okay, maybe even bold enough to say that he might be up here with me...and maybe I can feel his pride.
And the sun was shining on that mountain top and all of the clouds were gone.
"I miss you and I love you. I wish you were here and for the first time in a long time, I feel like you are."
Suddenly, I am beaming. I look around me and realize that I am on top of a mountain. I feel proud of myself for arriving at the summit. For the first time in a long time, I am not embarrassed by my constant contemplation of grief. Maybe I have been always plagued and introspective about it, because I hadn't figured it out. I have been looking at reconciliation like a destination, a goal. A mental, emotional, and spiritual place in time that would mean ease and certainty. Perhaps I will always be sad. But maybe that doesn't mean that I have failed. And if that is true, it could also be true that I have accomplished something. Like trying to prove that God exists, I have been trying to assure myself that I have a relationship with someone that is gone. It is a quest of faith and what I have finally come to realize is that it is worth the hard work. It is important to write blogs away from your friends that are laughing and quietly whisper to your father from you heart on top of mountains. It is the work that is necessary in order to continue what I think will be a life-long relationship with him.
I am prepared to work hard and sometimes feel sad. I have not reconciled with his death, but I have reconciled with myself that this will be my life's work.
I begin to rejoice and rejoin the present. I am on top of a mountain in Iceland and I need not feel guilty or discouraged that it made me think about him. I will no longer allow that to create a barrier that prevents me from being present in moments. It should make me happy. Because I am brave and resilient. I have chosen never again allow myself to feel numb or search for the empty promise of "moving on". Today, I decide to be happy and hopeful.
So the celebration begins and I capture a picture for my Amma. Gimli was here!
I look around at my fellow hikers that are exploring the mountain top and I join them. I find my small furry friend, who of course has made it to the top. What I failed to tell you at the chronologically appropriate time, was that during the two hour portion that we were climbing (like hands and god damn feet, pulling yourself up vertically), this little dumpling was running up and down. Up and down. Spraying rocks everywhere as he frantically herded all of us and made sure that the pack was together. I think that Cesar Milan would have really liked him. He was a working dog. In my head, I nicknamed him 'Snoopy Stallone', my little cliffhangin' buddy.
And I thought he was mighty fine! Obviously, Freddie would have done a much better job, but that's okay. This guy was pretty good.
So I made it. Right to the top of Flöguselshnjúkur's mighty 1306 meters. It felt great. I missed my lady hikers because I know that they would have been right beside me. Probably even a little ahead of me for most of the hike. I stood there are sent them some love from my heart.
And charged forward to explore the vast mountain top:
When I was feeling extra brave, I would try to look down:
I could even see my farm house from heaven (16x zoom):
I was truly on top of the world. I loved every second of it:
And the best part of it was that the only thing that I had to worry about was getting down the mountain. I'm no physicist, but clearly down is easier than up. I was looking like a flying slam dunk.
Or so it thought.....
Heading into the descent, I knew for sure that we weren't going down the same way we came. That would have been god damn impossible. So there was obvioulsy some other easier way. I assure you, I wasn't under the impression that there was some kind of exit ramp to this mountain. But going down was probably as hard as going up. If not harder....
Despite the many challenges that revealed themselves during the journey down, I also found some fun. My favorite part was the snow running. There were sections that lasted for an hour where we'd be on snow that I would have given a firm black diamond rating, had I been on a snowboard. It was the path of least resistance compared to the rocks. You had to run - or at least I did (because my horns were WAAAY up) - big bounding leaps forward where I would jet one straight leg out and jam my heel into the snow as I cast my weight backwards. One misstep and you could turn yourself into a classic cartoon snow ball :) I don't think that I'll ever forget listening to the Boss' "Born to Run" on full volume running down the snow covered mountain side. I was going so fast, I found myself wishing that I had googles. It was truly exhilarating.
Pictures never do it justice. This was a tame section. I wouldn't have dared taken my camera out on the full tilt running sections.
We traveled down from the snow....
and back to the green:
At this point, I am enjoying myself less and less as an old snowboarding injury is haunting me with every step. But what can you do? I just kept going and going....
After a long and difficult journey down, I cross the finish line. Astonished at myself, I take another look at the place that I had come from:
After arriving home from my adventure, I think to myself that I would rate this mountain climb as a six hiking boots out of a possible five hiking boots. I head to the bathroom, have a 10 hiking boot bath, and feel happy from the inside. Success.
What do I have to say for myself this time, perhaps you are asking. I think that this mountain climb has been my most important of lessons. Leading up to this day, I had found that I was feeling anxious, sad, or just a little off. You know how you can feel when you're just not sure that life is working out or that you are doing the right things? That's how I was feeling. A little lost. A little hopeless. Being out on the sheep farm brought those feeling right out to the forefront and I couldn't brush them off they way that I had become accustomed to at home. They followed me everywhere and I wasn't able to explain them away as easily as I normally would. It wasn't until I started to get to the top of that mountain that I realized why I had been feeling so terrible. I wasn't really in touch with myself. For years, I've been coming to terms with the death of my father. Each time that I realized something new about myself or mended damage that I'd caused to my life as a result of the grieving process, I felt like I'd arrived at a place where there was closure. But it was always false.
I finally had to climb a mountain in northern Iceland to discover the truth about life. I will feel sad. I will make mistakes. I will have sorrow. I might feel alone. All of these things are inevitabilities in life, for all of us. In fact, living life in the absence of these things is empty. It shows disconnection and apathy. I know that you are all probably nodding your heads to this right now. Obviously, everyone has to take the good with the bad. The thing is, there's more to it. Not only do you have to be able to feel these things, you need to be able to acknowledge their presence and, most importantly, accept them. Feel okay about a life without perfection. Allow yourself to feel tragedy. And perhaps the most crucial of all, give up on correcting things in life that you can't change. The past, mistakes, deaths, ugly feelings.... I have only now realized that I had spent so much time trying to reconcile with an event, that I had forgotten to reconcile with my heart. With myself. I have been on an empty quest to find this holy grail - a place where I could feel okay about Dad dying and where peace awaited me. There is no such place. I needed to find peace in myself. And I will forever have to discover and rediscover this peace. It will be work. It will never be done. But it is important to remember that the bad times will eventually be met by the good. And hard work pays off. Especially climbing mountains.
To all of my friends and family - I love you so much and carried you with me to the top and back down again.
Sarah
Sarah's Additional Viking Rules:
-Seek the truth
-Know your heart
-Purchase hiking boots
